


Drowned by The Fireworks

by isuilde



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Missing Kings spoiler, commission, hanabi taikai, this fic is mostly about fireworks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saruhiko and Misaki, under the bursts of fireworks, in four different years of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowned by The Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for [wanderingv131](http://wanderingv131.tumblr.com/)! I recently went to the fireworks festival, and I've been wanting to write a thing about it, SaruMisa gave me the perfect atmosphere for this. It's been a while since I wrote SaruMisa though, hopefully I'm not too rusty. Super super excited for fall season, I'll be dying sdkjfhaldkfjh

Being with HOMRA has its perks, Saruhiko thinks absently, as Totsuka leads them all along the riverbank and the crowds seem to part for them. Beside him, Misaki hums under the breath, face shadowed by the dimmed street light, but not enough to hide the bright grin that hasn’t faded from his face since Totsuka announced that they would go out for the fireworks festival tonight.

Stupid. It isn’t something they should get too excited about—they aren’t children. Misaki grinning like that is stupid. Having to navigate their way through the crowds along the riverbank for the best spot to view the fireworks is stupid. Going out for fireworks festival itself is stupid. Saruhiko clicks his tongue, annoyed.

“I heard that,” Misaki says, finally looking up, eyes bright and wide. “I told you, my ears are sharp.”

Saruhiko, purposefully, clicks his tongue again. “This is stupid.”

“You’re just saying it because you don’t like crowds,” Misaki points out. He narrowly misses bumping against a bunch of giggling girls in yukata; his face turning an interesting shade of red when he does so. Saruhiko snickers, earning himself a glare from Misaki. “Shut up.”

A boom echoes from the further along the riverbank—then a whistle, and the collective gasp from people. Somewhere further down, the night sky bursts into reds and greens, small flowers made of fire falling down against the dark sky. Saruhiko could see Anna on Mikoto’s shoulders, face tilting up, mouth open in fascination as the spark of fireworks are reflected in her eyes.

“Yata, Fushimi!” and that’s Totsuka calling, a sense of urgency and excitement underlining his voice as he waves a hand, beckoning them closer. Saruhiko catches Kusanagi by his side, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, one hand on Anna’s back to keep her balance. “Come on, we’re getting to the best spot!”

And of course, like the obedient kid that he is, Misaki answers, “Coming, Totsuka-san!”

Saruhiko sighs, because this is stupid. Everything about this is stupid, even as Misaki grabs his wrist and looks up at him with a wide grin, brash and stupid and _always so beautiful_ , fingers tightening as he pulls Saruhiko forward. “Let’s go, Saruhiko!”

“This is stupid,” he tells Misaki as much, but Misaki laughs, because Saruhiko doesn’t pull his hand back. Another boom sounds in the distance, then another, and another, and the sky is lit with consecutive golden bursts—one, two, three, four. There’s a thick scent of something burning hanging in the air with each firework that’s launched at the sky, with each boom echoing from further down the riverbank. The fireworks glitters across the sky, glinting against his glasses, almost too blinding to look at, and Saruhiko frowns—

Misaki’s fingers slip into his palm, fingers entwining with Saruhiko’s own before grasping them tight, and Saruhiko pauses.

“Hey,” Misaki says, his grin settling into a small smile, and Saruhiko catches himself thinking of how rare it it. “Saruhiko.”

“What.” He doesn’t look at the fireworks. Doesn’t look at the stark brightness that explodes and split the night sky in two. Doesn’t look at his King, who still has their Princess on his shoulder, her gasp a tiny echo drowned by people’s cheer. Doesn’t look at Totsuka, pointing out the each burst and telling Anna the names of flowers they resemble. He looks at Misaki instead—Misaki who is not looking at him, Misaki who keeps his eyes to the sky and traces each burst of light with his gaze.

Misaki who doesn’t grin, Misaki who looks quiet for once, Misaki who—

“You know,” the corners of Misaki’s eyes crinkle as his smile widens a little. “I think I—“

The whistle of the firework is deafening, the explosion that shatters above the river and the whoops of people even more so. Saruhiko watches as Misaki’s mouth works, syllables drowned by the endless bursts of fireworks building up into a finale show, sending the pitch black sky awash in blinding white light in defiance of night. He watches as Misaki finishes, watches the slightest tile of his head as he turns to Saruhiko, watches as the small smile breaks into a grin and a shade of red climbs all the way to his ears.

Illuminated by the blinding bright light of flowers made of fire on the sky, Misaki squeezes his hand.

“Next year!” he yells, so as not to be drowned by the deafening cheer of people around them. “Let’s watch the firework festival together, too, okay?!”

Saruhiko stares at him, white noise in his ears, blinding haze in the edges of his vision, and feels his chest tighten.

_I think I—_

_Me, too,_ Saruhiko thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Yeah,” he replies instead, quietly, but Misaki beams anyway because his ears are sharp and he probably hears Saruhiko even with the the next shoot of fireworks to the sky.

**\-----o0o-----**

The whistles of firework are a distant thing.

Saruhiko laughs, narrowly ducking the assault of red aura whizzing through him, and taunts, “Is that all you can do, Mi-sa-kiiii…?!”

Misaki roars angrily, his curse echoing in the narrow alleyway,—the sounds of fireworks too far to drown them into silence. “Don’t call me that, you fucking traitor!!”

The bursts of light are too far away to blind Saruhiko. Misaki’s red does it instead, clashing with his own blue, falters when he counters it with his own red. He laughs as Misaki growls, throws the memory of Misaki’s smile under the fireworks into his next attack, the memory of Misaki’s fingers in his own, of Misaki’s grin when he answered, because ah, they were _stupid._

Saruhiko grins, almost feral, and says, “Be serious, now, Misaki—“

Misaki turns, whirls around, and nearly bashes Saruhiko’s head with his skateboard. Saruhiko dances back with a chuckle bubbling up his throat—this is it, he thinks, so excited he nearly trembles with it. This is it. This excitement. This anticipation.

This is what he’s interested in. Misaki’s anger. Misaki’s fury.

Flesh and blood.

 _Yeah,_ he had said, and Saruhiko laughs at himself.

**\-----o0o-----**

Misaki is giving him the stink-eye. He clicks his tongue.

“Fushimi,” Awashima says, _warns_ , at the same time Anna murmurs, “Misaki,” like it’s an order, and Misaki looks away, the corners of his mouth tight. Saruhiko clicks his tongue again, and turns to glare to Awashima instead.

Awashima raises an eyebrow, unamused. “Behave.”

He isn’t even doing anything, compared to how Domyouji is arguing with Bandou on the other side of their group. This is so unfair. This is stupid. They still have so many paperwork in the office, and Saruhiko could have actually used this time for a nap before working on fixing everyone’s reports, but no, they’re going out for the fireworks festival instead. So he says, “this is stupid,” and thins his lips when both Munakata and Awashima look at him this time—Munakata in amusement and Awashima in disapproval.

“Really,” Munakata hums, thoughtful. “I’d rather thought that my idea of our clans’ negotiation under the fireworks festival had been ingenous. It is, after all, a festival—a tradition to make merry. Do you not agree, Red King?”

Anna looks up, blinking slowly at them. “Watching fireworks together is nice.”

Misaki snorts, loud and obnoxious. “Idiot Monkey just has no other vocabulary.”

Something in Saruhiko ticks in annoyance. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who got zero in Japanese literature.”

Misaki bristles. “Are you picking a fucking fight with me, shitty Monkey?!”

“Just stating facts,” Saruhiko says breezily, mouth twitching up. Misaki, so easy to rile up, so easy to taunt. So exciting. “Someone with no brain like you can’t possibly win, anyway.”

“Why, you—“ before Misaki could finish his insult, there’s a deafening boom and a whistle, and then a burst of gold curves across the night sky above them. It drowns whatever it is Misaki is shouting at him, as does the next one, and the next, and Misaki is _still shouting,_ albeit nobody can hear what he’s saying, _what the fuck_.

“Exquisite,” he hears Munakata murmurs when the bursts die down, hears Awashima’s hum of agreement readily answering the Blue King, but Saruhiko doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t look at his fellow clansmen and the rest of HOMRA, who had abandoned the tension between two clans in favor of watching the night sky, slowly returning to darkness. Doesn’t look at the reflection of light in the river, or the leftover spark above their heads.

He looks at Misaki instead, his face bright red with anger— _or something else?_ —and breathless after the barrage of words he’d let out under the deafening explosion of fireworks. By his side, Kusanagi is snickering, and Anna hides a chuckle behind her palms.

Misaki splutters at the two of them, settling back down, and Saruhiko sees the tips of his ears, red as flames.

Really, _what the fuck_.

**\------o0o------**

The muffled sound of fireworks blasting one after another rouses him into wakefulness.

Saruhiko groans, one hand moving to feel the other side of the bed. Empty, but still warm. Reluctantly, he cracks open an eye, finding the room still drowning in darkness, if not for the dim glint of fireworks’ spark filtering in through the open curtains.

Fuck this. “Close it,” he grunts, annoyed, earning a snort for his trouble. “Fuck you.”

“Insatiable bastard,” is the light reply he gets. Against the windowsill, Misaki glances at him, the warm reflection of golden burst illuminating his bare shoulders. There’s another muffled whistle, and another color bursts outside, bright purple this time. Misaki turns his gaze back outside, watching the sparks shaped in flowers paint the whole night sky, fascination in the lines of his face. “We can see the fireworks from here.”

An expression unchanged, no matter how many times he’d watched the fireworks. Stupid. Saruhiko watches the glint of blue and yellow off the window pane in disinterest.

“I wonder if Anna is out there watching with Kusanagi-san.”

It doesn’t annoy him as much, now, when Misaki says it. He wonders if it’s because it’s Anna instead of Mikoto, wonders if it’s because he knows who Misaki would still look at even if HOMRA would forever be a place where he belongs. It takes them years, to get to this point, and Saruhiko isn’t quite sure what changed, isn’t quite sure what happened that they got to this point, but as he traces the lines of Misaki’s back with his gaze, he finds it hard to care.

“I bet she’d look good in the yukata we bought her,” Misaki says. He doesn’t even blink when the next burst of fireworks sparkle—higher this time, green and red making a smiley face instead of shaping fire flowers. “Aw, fuck, I should’ve asked Kusanagi-san for a picture.”

Saruhiko clicks his tongue, thinks about getting out of bed to close the curtains himself, but the tangles of blankets around his feet makes it too troublesome. “Misaki,” he half-growls, because he’s fucking tired and he has work early tomorrow morning. “Close it.”

“Stop sounding like a fucking old man,” Misaki complains, but he pulls the curtains closed, plunging their room back into darkness. He shuffles closer to the bed, and Saruhiko almost instinctively opens his arms, grunting when he feels Misaki slip back under the covers. Outside, the booms of fireworks are still echoing, but they fade into white noises when Misaki’s arms settle lightly around his hips, pressing their curves and contours together.

“Hey, Saruhiko,” Misaki whispers quietly. “I think I—“

A particularly deafening boom of firework split the night, but it’s alright this time. Saruhiko doesn’t smell the burning scent, doesn’t see them blinding even beneath closed eyelids, doesn’t have his ears ring with the muffled explosion. He hears Misaki instead, feels the words against his skin, in the scant air shared under the covers, with Misaki’s smile pressed against his jaw.

_I think I love you, idiot Monkey._

“Yeah,” Saruhiko mutters, and feels Misaki laugh at him.

**\------o0o------**


End file.
